


Making Nice In Nice

by tryslora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hd_canon_fest, F/M, Family, HP: Epilogue Compliant, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-06
Updated: 2011-11-06
Packaged: 2017-10-25 18:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the first time in 26 years, Harry and Draco finally <i>talk</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Nice In Nice

**Author's Note:**

> Originaly written for the community [hd_canonfest](http://hd-canon-fest.livejournal.com/) on livejournal and posted [here](http://hd-canon-fest.livejournal.com/6724.html).
> 
> The initial prompts were the words sleep, bowtruckle, and sea, and the quote: “Dumbledore says people find it far easier to forgive others for being wrong than being right.” -- Hermione, HBP
> 
> Many thanks to my wonderful betas for helping me out with this piece. And many thanks to the moderators of the community for running a wonderful fest!
> 
> I do not own these characters or the world of Harry Potter; JK Rowling does. I just love to play with them.

Astoria had planned the outing to Nice with Ginny Potter, and Draco had come along under protest, solely because he knew it had been planned in order to allow his son to spend time with his closest friend. He suspected Potter felt the same way, and the two had studiously avoided conversation for the first three days of the week long holiday. But on the morning of the fourth day, their wives had cheerily announced that they were going shopping and would be back late, and to remember to keep an eye on their boys.

As if two seventeen year old boys, about to enter their final year of Hogwarts, needed watching. When Draco had made to disagree, Astoria had silenced him sharply, and again under protest, he had agreed.

Draco sat on the back deck of the beach house the Malfoys had rented, looking out over the sand and bright sea, watching the boys roughhouse in the waves. He saw Potter approach before the first footfall on the steps, but he ignored the intrusion until the other man sank down into the chair next to him. Draco’s lips pursed and he pointed out, “You have your own deck.”

“I was bored.” Potter stretched out, arms behind his head, gaze fixed on the boys even as Draco looked over.

“You could swim with them,” Draco suggested, since Potter was dressed for swimming, in low slung trunks that bared the edge of a tan line. Apparently Potter’s pale skin tanned in the sun, unlike Draco’s, which required repeated charms in order to avoid turning him red as a lobster. Of course it would. Everything about Potter was charmed perfect. Draco’s lips thinned further, souring his expression. It wasn’t fair. It never had been fair, but that was life, was it not?

“Not in the mood to get wet. Besides, they’re having fun on their own.”

Potter fell silent, and Draco let the conversation lapse. He watched as Albus, the shorter of the two boys, wrapped his arms around Scorpius’ center and twisted until both boys fell laughing into the water.

“I should thank Astoria for arranging this. It’s a good way to spend the time before our boys go off for their last year as children.”

“They aren’t children. They’re of age.” Draco couldn’t agree with Potter on principle. He picked at the tiny holes Potter left in the conversation, filling them with sharp words and facts. “You do still have one at home, I believe, whereas Scorpius is my only child.” He cast a small glare at Potter. “Not all of us shag indiscriminately in order to reproduce like Weasels.”

Potter seemed more amused than embarrassed. “He told you about that, did he? We weren’t shagging, Malfoy. It was the middle of the night, long after they ought to’ve been asleep, and Gin and I were snogging in the kitchen. She was sitting on the countertop.”

“Naked.”

“From the waist up,” Potter admitted. “But we weren’t shagging. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with still having a healthy interest in one’s wife after more than twenty years of marriage.”

“Of course,” Draco said dryly. Because he had _never_ had that sort of an interest in Astoria. He had known her, of course, before the marriage contract was signed. After all, she was the younger sister of one of Pansy’s best friends. But he had never looked at her in that light, and to this day, otherwise Scorpius might have had siblings.

“Besides, I don’t think that was as much of a shock as when I found Al and Scor—” Potter’s voice trailed off as he looked at Draco, who was frowning deeply back at him.

“When you found Albus and Scorpius _what_?” Draco said darkly.

“You knew—didn’t you?”

Draco felt the bottom drop out of his stomach and he looked back out to the sea, seeking the telltale signs that he must have ignored. The way their hands fell against skin as they played in the waves. The look of naked fear in Scorpius’ eyes for a moment when Albus went under, then the joy when he resurfaced. The boys had been roommates in Slytherin for six years now, and friends since the start. Draco had never looked past that friendship. He wondered if Astoria knew, and if that was why she had planned this vacation now, when the two families had never before chosen to meet socially.

He caught Scorpius glancing back at him. His son’s expression was worried, and Draco gave a shallow nod. _Go on, Scorpius. I approve_. The answering smile was bright and quick, and Scorpius turned to tackle Albus, rolling them both into the water.

“You didn’t know.” Potter’s voice was somber. “I’m sorry. I thought he’d come out to you.”

“He hadn’t.” Draco felt Potter’s regard, so he turned to look at him, one eyebrow arching lazily. “Yes, Potter?”

“You’re taking it better than I’d expect, finding out your only son is gay.” _And in love with the son of your childhood enemy_ went unsaid.

Draco smiled thinly. “I may not have known, but I am anything but surprised. After all, Scorpius is much like I might have been, had a war not interfered with my life.” He stopped, having said far more than was ever meant to be said aloud. “If you will excuse me.” Draco pushed himself from the chair and picked up his empty glass to take it inside, purposefully neglecting to offer Potter the same hospitality of a refreshed drink.

Of course, Potter followed him. He had never respected the rules of polite society.

“Did it occur to you that you were not invited inside my home?” Draco asked coldly, placing ice cubes one by one in the glass.

“You’re gay.”

The ice cube dropped from the tongs with a loud clink in the glass as Draco’s eyes closed. He placed the glass on the counter, taking a moment to compose his expression into one of bland, polite regard before he turned around. “That is not a topic for discussion, Potter.”

He watched Potter’s expression shift as the wheels turned, visibly calculating, following thoughts, trying to tease meaning from things said and unsaid. Green eyes met grey, Potter’s brow furrowing. “Will you force your son to get married as well?” he asked.

Draco’s jaw tightened, the muscle at the back a thick knot of frustration. “No.” The one word snapped curtly. “I see now that the Malfoy line will end here.”

“Do you regret that you married Astoria?”

That would mean regretting everything Scorpius was, and Draco could never regret the existence of his son. “I regret nothing, Potter. _Nothing_.”

One of Potter’s eyebrows arched, the expression quizzical rather. Draco bit back a laugh, certain Potter didn’t mean it quite so comically.

“You regret nothing? What about that?” Potter gestured at Draco’s crossed arms, where the Dark Mark lay, somewhat faded from the years since the war.

“Will you tell me your regrets?” Draco countered. “Do you regret all those who died in innocence, because they protected you? Do you regret those who died to ensure you remained alive, only so you could be offered as a sacrifice to destroy Voldemort in the end?”

“Yes,” Potter answered without hesitation. “I have regrets, Malfoy. Plenty of them. It doesn’t make me look any better to insist that I actually wanted to do everything I did, or that I think it was all necessary.”

Draco looked away, unable to keep staring at those green eyes. He took up the glass once more, filling it with water from the tap, watching the ice cubes clink together within the glass as water filled in around the edges, lifting them up. When it was done, he set it aside and took a fresh glass from the cupboard, adding ice cubes and water, turning to offer it in silence to Potter. He waited until the other man was drinking before he broke the silence.

“Why did you save me, Potter?” One eyebrow arched. “Is that one of the things you regret, pulling me out of the fire when you could have been rid of me?”

Potter blinked at him, then shook his head quickly. “Of course I don’t regret it. I saved you because it was the right thing to do.”

“Even though I was your enemy.”

“Even though,” Potter agreed. “I didn’t want anyone to die, Malfoy. If I could’ve made it through those years with only Voldemort ending up dead, I’d have been a lot happier. All those deaths are on my shoulders. Dumbledore. Cedric. Colin. Fred. Remus. Tonks. Sirius.” Potter was rushing at the end, breathy with every word. “I didn’t want them to die. I still see them in my nightmares, sometimes. Remus and Tonks, especially. Asking why they didn’t get to see Teddy grow up properly.”

Draco snorted softly. He could see the answer so clearly. “You saved me because you couldn’t save them. You saved me because I was the one thing you could do that might atone for their loss.”

Potter looked down at the glass, and Draco snorted again. He was right, of course.

“Why did you save _me_?” Potter’s gaze pinned him as soon as he looked up again. “Was it the same thing? You’d killed for the Death Eaters, so you decided to save my life when you could’ve given me to Voldemort, hoping that’d be your redemption?”

“Don’t pin your motives on me, Potter.” Draco glared at him. “I _never_ killed for the Death Eaters. Not one soul fell to my wand. I may have used Crucio under duress, and I most certainly used Imperius, but I _never_ killed. If I had been a killer, Dumbledore would have fallen without Snape having to finish the job I could not complete.” And if he had killed, then Voldemort would have forgiven the Malfoys all sins, and taken him under his wing. He would have been _safe_. “I should have given you to Voldemort. I should have pleased him.”

“Then why didn’t you?” Potter poked at the open wound, and Draco winced. “Why did you save me, Malfoy?”

“Because you were the saviour of the wizarding world,” Draco said slowly. “Because if you died, we would have had no one. I would have had no one. I saved you because I needed you to save me.”

The words were all true, of course. It was entirely personal. Without Harry Potter, they wouldn’t have had a chance, and Draco’s hell would have continued. Potter had been his only chance to escape. However, that explanation left out the most important detail: at the end of the war, the one person Draco had most wanted to see survive was Potter himself.

The back door burst open and two boys rushed in. In so many ways, it was like looking at the past. Albus was the smaller of the two, more compact, body a little soft, dark hair flopping into his face. Scorpius was long and lean, all elbows and knees and odd angles, taller than his father even. They dripped water across the floor as they jockeyed for position to get to the cold drinks first, Scorpius eventually finding the butterbeer and tossing one to Albus before taking one himself. They both leaned on the table, Scorpius casting a glance at his father before letting his shoulder lean against Albus’ shoulder comfortably. Albus grinned.

“You could have mentioned,” Draco said dryly.

“We thought you knew,” Albus spoke before Scorpius could. “Mum and Mrs. Malfoy discussed sharing a house, and Dad said it would be all right, but you refused. I thought you didn’t want us to share a room.”

No. The answer was far simpler: Draco refused to share living space with Potter. He couldn’t face the idea of walking into the kitchen in the odd hours of the morning to find Potter with his wife half undressed upon the counter. He smiled at the boys, masking his thoughts. “It’s simplest, sometimes, to have privacy.”

Potter gave him an odd look. “Go on, Al. Why don’t you boys go over to our house and find something to do.”

“You know exactly what they’re going to do,” Draco said as the boys finished their butterbeers and headed out.

“I know,” Potter replied. “They deserve a little privacy. They’re of age, after all. You said it yourself.”

Draco said nothing. He didn’t want to think about, and he didn’t want to feel blooming jealousy over his own son’s life. Scorpius was able to be exactly what he was meant to be, while Draco remained cast into a mold made long ago. He shifted as Potter brushed by him to place his glass in the sink, stopping only when Potter gripped his left arm, twisting it to show the faded Mark.

Potter traced the lines of it with one fingertip, not saying a word when Draco shivered at the light touch. “You should have said something.” Potter’s words were low, and Draco knew then that Potter had followed the pathways of his cryptic remarks, and knew exactly how like his father Scorpius was, down to the weakness for dark messy hair and green eyes.

“No,” he said curtly, pulling his arm back. “I couldn’t.”

Potter let his hands fall as he turned to lean against the sink, hands on the edge of the countertop, elbow just brushing Draco’s arm. “Albus is a lot like his father. Stubborn. Determined. And as obsessed with Scorpius as I ever was with you.”

Draco let those words sink in under his skin, taking them apart, worrying them between mental fingertips until he thought he had the meaning of them. Quiet and as laced with meaning as his own unwitting admission earlier. Only this was said deliberately. Carefully. He glanced at Potter, who seemed to have found something fascinating on the wall on the other side of the room.

“I don’t regret my marriage,” Draco said. “Scorpius is exactly what I had hoped for.”

“I don’t regret mine either,” Potter responded. “I love Ginny, and I love all my kids. But that doesn’t stop a person from wondering what might have been.”

“If there hadn’t been a war.” Draco found that same point on the wall fascinating, the glass cold in his hand, making it damp with condensation.

“If there hadn’t been a war,” Potter agreed. He took a sip from his glass, letting the silence stretch, and Draco felt no need to break it.

“You could try calling me Harry,” Potter finally said. “After all, we’ve known each other a long time. I might be able to manage calling you Draco.”

“Harry.” It sounded odd to hear said aloud, when Draco had only used the word in his mind before, in the depths of odd dreams when he was younger. Dreams that were long gone, but coming awake in disturbing ways now. “We can try that,” he finally allowed, a small smile tilting his lips.

Potter— _Harry_ —grinned in return. He took another long gulp of his water, then set the glass down behind Draco’s back, fingers touching his arm on the way by.

Draco glanced at him, looking down from the few inches height difference, and waited, curious, while it seemed Harry tried to find words.

“I saved you,” Harry said slowly, “because you were a constant in my life. You were always there, since the beginning. We fought, but I needed you. If you had died, the world would have been wrong.”

Those words curled in slow warmth in Draco’s gut, breath catching in his chest, and he nodded. “And that,” he said quietly, “is exactly why I saved you.”

He finished his own drink and set it down, and they stood there for a long while, both leaning against the counter, not quite touching. There was nothing more that needed to be said.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Making Nice In Nice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1432552) by [sisi_rambles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sisi_rambles/pseuds/sisi_rambles), [tryslora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora)




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